Tied Together
by LimitlessRockets
Summary: The mage's fate is woven in red thread, red like those eyes, red like a dragon. KuroFai Drabble Dump; not chronological
1. Red Threads

_Read Thread_

They tell of the red string of fate, tied around your pinkie finger. Sometimes I stare at it, the smallest digit on my hand. Sometimes I almost see it, a delicate bow-like knot tied securely. I wonder how it is still there when my actions have been like scissors, but then I remember that every time I took my fury out on the thread linking us, you'd just tie it again. Double knots and triple knots; you wouldn't let me escape.

I look at you some days, and I know, without the shadow of a doubt, that any string tied to any of my fingers is red. A deep red, like your determined eyes. A gorgeous, beautiful, warm red, like your favorite yukata you string loosely about yourself at night. Warm like your arms, your glances, your little acknowledgments.

My fate is woven in strong red thread. As indescribably red as your very being.

And Some days, I cannot help but link my smallest finger around yours, the one attached to your fake arm. When you look at me with your brows raised, I am reduced to smiling and teasing you with, "Well, you were tugging on the string quite hard."

You only scoff at me and make a point to say, "It's the other hand." _The one that's been there since the day I was born._


	2. An Unimportant Moment

_This idea's been playing on my mind for a while now..It stems from my headcanon that Fai likes kissing Kurogane between his brows more than on his forehead or cheek; it's a valerian quirk he's never really gotten rid of._

* * *

><p>Nimble, long fingers work the obi of Kurogane's yukata, and the ninja does not protest. Long ago he had decided to give his mage this one simple pleasure, of dressing his most important person, of showing what he has learned in the time he has lived in this world, even if such times were few and far between because of intergalactic travels.<p>

A simple silence stands with them, intimate and soft, caressed by Fai's fingers and the way they sound over the fabric and it's movements. He says nothing, but the way he moves speaks to Kurogane in the way that it always has. It was slow and kind, as if he never wanted this small, unimportant moment to end. He is not angry anymore, or sad. He is content, with a small smile playing on his lips, and happy to do this small favor.

When he is finished, Fai slides his fingers to the sides Kurogane's hips before letting them fall. Slowly, moves around the front to smooth the panels of fabric, making sure they are clean of wrinkles, and all Kurogane can do is study him silently. His red eyes hold something, something that used to be hard but has now melted into a form that is much less harsh. Fai glanced up into those eyes, so much more loving than he first remembers them, and smiles widely under them.

He hands slowly dragged themselves from the ninja's waist, up to his face. They hold Kurogane there, thumbs caressing his skin softly, with that loving little smile splayed over his features. As he leans upwards, the Japanese man shifts his chin inwards just a bit with his eyes closed, almost as if bracing for impact. Still, Fai chuckles and plants a small kiss between his knitted brows, a smile still across his lips. He pauses afterwards to look at Kurogane for one last second, all the love in the world in his sky blue eyes, and the ninja sees that; his heart swims in that love, grows and flourishes in it.

But, before he knows it, Fai is dancing away to that dinner Tomoyo planned, and he is following because that is what he does.


	3. Falling Cloudless

_Falling (Cloudless)_

You should be screaming. For God sakes, both of you should be screaming. Somewhere in the back of your thoughts, you can hear the kid. You should be afraid for the lives of all in the group, but somehow, you're not.

Because you've been entranced.

Fai is giggling_. Giggling_, of all things! Somehow absolutely in his _element_. And oh God, he simply tumbles and _falls_ so elegantly onto his back, because he wants to find_ you_. You're above him, clothes flapping unceremoniously against you, and as his beautiful smiles reaches you, all of the fear in your gut is left to the wind. Suddenly, you're not falling to your imminent death; you're falling with him, _for him. _(Everything you do seems to be for him these days.)

He pushes his hair out of his face (it is much too long for this, and he swims in it), and then reaches for you with one the brightest, most beautiful smiles you had ever seen. He is happy, sincerely, wonderfully happy, without any sort of mask or fog, and dammit, it makes you the happiest man alive. You swear his eyes are the same color is the cloudless sky; the thought almost makes you forget to reach down for him. And when you do, you loose the balance of being spread-eagle, and it takes you by surprise. You loose his grip as easily and as fast as you had gained it.

He laughs at you, but it's nothing new. Unfortunately, you can't hear it's sound, but when you shifted you'd fallen a little faster, you had come more than in arm's reach. His hair tickles your face, and you're engulfed in him and his eyes. In that moment, you'd feel content to fall forever. He's smiling only for you, and you're smiling only for him.

And then his pale, long-fingered hands reach up to cup your face. He's still smiling, taking you in brightly, _loving_ you because, fuck, he does that so _well_. The sound of your clothes flapping in the wind silences; the world silences. It is just him, and him alone, and you are, and always will be, content with that.  
>Again he laughs silently, and angles himself to fall faster than you. He's soaring down by his feet, saying a flirtatious goodbye with his eyes, moving himself so as to fall stomach-down once he is a good distance below you.<p>

He was one son of a bitch, always leaving you hanging like that, as if daring you to follow. And you always did. When had you not? So, you find yourself angling downward, fluttering faster and faster, and even though you can see the ground, you could care less.

Fai beams at you, and you could've already crashed into this stupid, new world and not have given a fuck in the world.

Thankfully, the mage stops that from happening.


	4. Electric Pow Wow

**NOTE: This is NOT set in pre-colonial America. I know too little about Native Americans and their culture, and I don't want to offend anyone. This takes place in a different world entirely. **

**Anyway, this is something I wrote one night after discovering A Tribe Called Red; you can google their album, which is native american music mixed with electronica.**

**Not beta'd, though proofread. Constructive criticism welcome.**

* * *

><p>Fai had never seen anything like it. The spirits of the Native people were captivating, beautiful. Having been in Piffle only a few nights ago, a city filled with the shuffling of people going about their singular lives, he was in awe. The land was wide, endless, flowing and green, like the spirits of the people who inhabited it.<p>

The girls had let their braids out, their hair billowing in silky waves as they danced, adorned with headbands and feathers and jewelry. They wore ornate dresses made from animal hides and decorated with tassels, bells, brightly colored beads, shells, and stones that rattled in movement. Some carried fans made of tail feathers or shawls that, when outstretched and billowing in dace, reminded Fai of birds. The men made just as much noise, though some were adorned with full animal pelts, head and all, as if they were pretending to be the beast itself. Fai noticed that, while none of them wore shoes (as if to be closer to the land), many had their faces painted with colors that shown brightly against the light of the bonfire. And the music – oh, the music. The heavy drums and tribalistic vocals made him want to dace with nothing but the moon to watch. The atmosphere trilled with pure liveliness, a certain kind of untamable electricity created by people who did not wish to tame it as long as they were free themselves. Or maybe it was just the contents of that pipe he'd been handed kicking in.

Earlier he'd been eyeing the big war bonnet one of his new acquaintances had laying around and, in an act of friendly kindness, they had let him barrow it. Adjusting the fluffy sidepieces, Fai was able to glance sideways at Kurogane, who was sitting next to him. On the other side of the ninja was the Kid (who was not much of a kid anymore), probably taking mental notes for future reference. He wrapped the shawl he had been given a little tighter around his shoulders.

Kurogane wore an ornate chest piece made of shiny white bone strung into columns, bright beads, tassels and feathers. His pants (which showed so much ankle they mite as well be capris) were a dark chocolate color, compared to Fai's lighter ones. The blonde also had a breechclout over his own. Kurogane was downing some sort of drink, and it was then that Fai noticed that they had painted his face, too, with red pigment. He blamed his lack of observance on the contents of his cup and the communal pipe.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. "Kuro-pon, dance with me!" the blonde squealed, jumping to his feet.

Of course, he protested. And glared. And snapped. But since when did Fai loose their game? How could he not win, with endless intoxication around them? In no time he was grabbing Kurogane's big calloused hands and dragging the annoyed man to his feet as he handed off his drink to Syaoran, who only smiled kindly. Sometimes, Fai wondered how lonely the Kid felt in times like those.

He dragged the ninja all the way into the thick of the dancing, avoiding bodies as he went. Behind him, Kurogane dragged his feet only enough to look protesting.

And then, he let go of his hand.

The steady beat of the drum rang through his lithe body like a bell, the distinct sound of the rattle echoed through his head, electric, and he let the vocals carry him. The intoxicated part of his mind vied for his attention and he allowed it to creep through him until it was the only part of his brain alive. His feet moved without thought, his body arched and sang all on it's own. He let himself go, to be as a free as the rolling grass and it's kind-eyed people. All he remembered was Kurogane's piercing red eyes that drove him forward, and the way his tanned body looked in the dim light. Tassels swam, feet pounded, and decorations were tossed against each other. Time seemed to stop.

Kurogane could distinctly recall the feeling of the a long-fingered pale hand slipping from his grip. He stood in the midst of music and dance and electricity for a long moment, pride fighting intoxication. Suddenly, someone pushed him and Fai pulled him and a man that was not a man, but an antelope-like animal, pranced past. He found himself too close to the fire, and had to skip away yet again only to almost fall into a girl, though thankfully Fai had pulled him away again, though off balance, and after that his numbed brain had stopped comprehending. Turning, skipping away, leaping, avoiding, advancing on the captivating magician and having the blonde skirt away. He didn't know when he had started to dance.

He could remember the way Fai's pale skin looked against the fire and the moonlight; the way his ribs looked as his body twisted and moved. The shawl he had brought was fanned out about his shoulders now, less ornate than those of the other dancers, but still giving him the effect of a proud, free brid. His eyes shown bright blue in the night, intoxicated, unthinking. He was forever in movement, forcing the ninja to be without protest. Sometimes there was touch, but mostly they were void of it, moving in a whirlwind of beat and dance.

A blonde eagle and dark haired wolf, somehow in perfect harmony, both proud in their own way.

Neither of them remembered how, but at one point they found themselves tripping into the tall grass by a big tree, Fai's laughter floating in the night as he landed on the ninja.

Kurogane looked at the pale, blue-eyed blonde for a long time, though his perception of time had left him long ago. Fai didn't bother to move from Kurogane's lap as they sat up.

No matter how many worlds they visited, Kurogane was always amazed by how clothing changed a person. Tonight Fai was a proud fighter, capped in his exotic war bonnet and deerskin clothing. His eyes followed the flow of the magician's pale hair; somewhere during their travels, it had grown past his collarbone and his chest, and now it fell even with the bottom of his sternum.

Before he knew it, Kurogane was wrapping his big tanned arms around the magician's smaller, pale shoulders. Fai truly was a warrior, in a different sense of the word, in all the ways the ninja wasn't; there wasn't one clear way to be strong.

For a long, lingering moment they simply breathed in each other's scent. Their foreheads met, their eyes closed. Fai could feel hands moving back along his neck, reaching up to push the feathers away from his head, pulling fingers through hair. The touch itself always took his breath away, intoxicated him and left him helpless (only when it_ didn't_ and everything was reversed, and he was in _charge_). All he could do was shiver and lean into the touch, coveting the ninja. With the corners of the shawn still clutched in his hands, Fai's fingers traveled across Kurogane's back and across his ribs.

Neither of them remembered if they kissed; they surely could have, and not remembered it. Syaoran told them when they woke up in the next world that he had found them in the grass that morning, just before Mokona had whisked them away. Covered in dew and with the birds chirping prissy comments in the tree above, they had been peacefully unaware in each other's arms. Thankfully, they had been fully clothed.

Fai still had his war bonnet.


End file.
